Sunday, 31 January 2016

Mrs. Biswas

I was at a school for a workshop, when I heard it for the first time in
ages. It was barely audible above the shouting of children -- the
laughter and sound bubbling from the school playground into the
classroom windows. But it was there: the swish of silk saris and the
jingle jangle of bangles on thin wrists like wind chimes.

This is what learning sounds like. I remember. I remember my school.

I remember when I was 10 years old, the principal of my School was Mrs.
Biswas. She was the size of a nightlight, and she glided like a
sailboat through the hallways of our school.

Once, when I got close enough to grab a fistful of her draping
silk sari, I tried to see whether she had any feet at all.
I thought she floated. She was magical

I
was scared to be sent to her office: (all the false stories we have
imagined about her cabin) we used to think she is a lion roaring in her
cabin which was all surrounded by the hanging plants like a jungle
But it was all wrong she was lovely lady adjusting her bangles. Seemed she was waiting for me
The fear was gone
Deep down for her respect & love was born
Adults needed appointments,
but we did not. And even when she was in grown-up meeting,
all it took was a gentle knock on the door, a peek around the corner,
and she was off calling, "Sorry. We’ll have to reschedule.
I have to see someone else about a very important matter.
She listened to our problems, questions, confusion, dreams, mistakes,
she listenes everything. She taught us how to listen. Before leaving the
cabin, she told that we can come as many times we want. Whether It’s
about a gold fish. It’s about a new diagram. It’s about a finished read
book. Its about our fights, our health issues, she always gave us second
chance So we can improve it the next time. No matter how terribly wrong
we were, she would always say its fine.
Always taught us to Keep on working hard & hard & hard

Those
who went off track used to get slapped, but now i feel, if she wuld
have not slapped me, now no one wuld have clapped for me.
She visited
every classroom, knew every student by name. She spoke to us like we
were scholars. Artists. Scientists. Athletes. Musicians.
her world was the size of a crayon box, and she gave us every color to draw.
My
world was the size of a classroom. It was tall & high whr I
stretched my fingers, calling, Please! Let me be the one to read to Mrs.
Biswas. Let me be the one to show her what I know.

She
floated from class to class, and we stared, cheered, laughed, and
shouted. We Like always were shocked at her passion, "Miss, what is
that? Where did you got so much energy ?" She made us wonder. She made
us question. She made us proud of what we had learned.

She taught us to share. She taught us to listen when someone else is
speaking. And then one day she let us go. We were dandelion seeds
released to the wind, she asked for no return. We are saplings now with
gentle hands.

The boy who loved to help others is now Army
Doctor, The geeky girl who loved computers, is now a Software Engineer
in Brazil. The girl with bright cheeks and messy hairpins now works at
an orphanage in Pune. The boy with the color-ordered markers is now a
graphic designer in Chicago. The one with the best diorama is now an
animal activist in Argentina. The boy (me) who loved to joke & write
is now a writer, a comedian in India. She let us fly.

So now I find myself at the front of a classroom.

I see whole bunch of wild wonders.
worrying about everything.
worrying about what to write.
worrying about their grades.
talking over one another until I cannot hear them.

I tell them, "Listen. Listen to one another like you know
you are scholars. Artists. Engineers. Scientists. Athletes. Musicians.
Like you know you will be the ones to shape this world. Show me how many
colors you know how to draw with.
Show me how proud you are of what you have learned.
And I promise I will do the same."

Mrs.Biswas i still carry your thoughts & try to be like you.
Thanks for Everything.
Amit Borse (K N Kela High School 2005 Batch)